


all the words i couldn't say

by winterwind



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwind/pseuds/winterwind
Summary: Kent’s trying to be a good person, okay? Really. He’s closer to 30 than 20 now (ugh) and he’s chilled out. He’s played some good hockey, won some awards, and had significantly less photos of him at trashy clubs show up in People magazine this year. Things are good.Until Jack shows up at the You Can Play Fundraising Gala in that stupid suit, smiling his stupid smile.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, pre-Kent/Jack/Bitty
Comments: 11
Kudos: 159





	all the words i couldn't say

Zimms looks damn good in his suit.

_Shit._

Listen, Kent’s trying to be a good person, okay? Really. He’s closer to 30 than 20 now ( _ugh_ ) and he’s chilled the fuck out. He’s played some good hockey, won some awards, and had significantly less photos of him at trashy clubs show up in _People_ magazine this year. Things are good.

He and Zimms have also struck up a weird sort of friendship where they’re not pretending all the fucked up shit that happened _didn’t_ happen, per say, but they’re not acknowledging it outright either. It’s fine. It’s enough. 

Kent is probably maybe definitely still in love with him, but, whatever, he’ll take what he can get. Kent’s fine with their strange sort of friendship that involves random texts at random hours, Kent sending way too pictures of his cat, and drinks and dinners whenever they’re in the same city.

Until Zimms shows up at the You Can Play Fundraising Gala in that stupid suit, smiling his stupid smile at whatever stupid joke Mashkov is making. (Alexei is actually really funny and Kent actually likes him a lot, but that’s so not the point here).

“Earth to Parse.” Swoops has his hand over his mouth like he’s talking into a walkie talkie and also like he’s a five year old in a grown ass professional hockey player’s body. “Come in, Cadet Parson. Do you read me?”

“Shut up,” Kent says, jabbing an elbow at him, which Swoops dodges effortlessly. They’ve clearly been playing together too long.

“There’s a million good looking dudes here,” Swoops says, gesturing broadly at the room. “If you’re gonna pick up, you’re in the right place to do it.”

“Why? You think everyone here is gay because it’s a You Can Play fundraiser?” Kent gasps dramatically, holding a delicate hand in front of his mouth. “Jeff, oh my gosh, are you finally coming out?”

“Yep,” Swoops says dryly. “This is the moment I choose to tell you I’m gay, here in an extremely public venue, with paparrazi and strangers all around. I love to have private moments where anyone can hear them, it’s my favorite thing.”

“Awwww, Jeffy, I’m honored to share this special moment with you.” Swoops artfully ducks under Kents attempt at a hug and slaps Kent’s arm.

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, you’re an idiot,” Kent says, swatting at Swoops.

“No, _you’re_ an idiot.” Swoops swats back at Kent with a devious grin and it quickly devolves into a slap fight that would put teenage girls in a made-for-tv drama to shame.

“Who is bigger idiot, Zimmboni?” comes a booming voice from behind Kent. “I think both big idiots.”

Kent whirls around to find himself face to face with Mashkov and -

“I’d be inclined to agree with you,” Zimms says with a hint of a smile. Closer up, Kent can see how the subtle gray pattern of his suit brings how blue his eyes are. His boyfriend must have picked it out for him, Zimms has never been this stylish. Kent suddenly feels the urge to reach out and touch Zimms’ chest to see how the shimmering material would feel.

 _Shiiiiiit_.

“All that kicking Parse’s ass has made this idiot thirsty,” Swoops says. “Tater, you need a drink?”

“Yes, let’s go to bar, idiot.” Swoops loops an arm around Mashkov’s enormous shoulder, but not before he looks back at Kent and fucking _winks_ at him. Bastard.

“Hey, Kent,” Zimms says once they’ve left. He looks almost fond. He’s not quite smiling but there’s an unexpected warmth in his expression, like he’s missed Kent or something.

Which is ridiculous, of course. Kent vaguely wishes he had another drink.

“Hey, Zimms,” he responds and barely manages to wrangle a goofy smile into a smirk. “How ya been?”

“Good, keeping up training in the off season. I started doing yoga recently and I’m not sure I like it, but it keeps me limber -”

Kent laughs.

“God, you just don’t know how to not talk shop, do you, Zimms?”

Zimms at least has the grace to look a little embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding like he actually means it, and sighs. “I was just talking to some reporters and I don’t know how to turn it off, you know how I am.”

“Yeah, I do,” Kent says and prays Zimms is oblivious enough to not notice the affection that bleeds through his tone.

Zimms looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, searching his face for something. The old impulse to look away or deflect or get defensive rises, but he just takes a breath and looks back at Zimms.

You know what they call that? Growth.

“It’s really good to see you, Kenny.”

Kent’s heart leaps into his throat at the sound of his old nickname and he immediately decides that growth is overrated and he needs to get the fuck out of here pronto.

“There you are!” says Eric Bittle, coming up to Zimms from seemingly nowhere and touching his arm gently. “I was talkin’ to Thirdy’s wife and then next thing I knew --”

Kent takes advantage of the distraction and literally runs, weaving through people more roughly than he probably should until he gets to the bar, safe back next to Swoops.

“A shot of tequila, please. And a Cosmo,” he says to the bartender when he catches her eye.

Swoops shoots him a look that very clearly says _Are you serious right now? I cannot believe you_ before gesturing at the bartender and saying, “Two tequila shots.”

Kent has always appreciated that Swoops never lets him drink alone.

“Three,” Mashkov says. “I like being with idiots. Makes night much more interesting.”

∴

Kent is more or less able to avoid Zimms for the rest of the evening, which is good, because clearly he isn’t mature enough to be able to handle him in that perfect fucking suit _what the actual fuck_ and also because Mashkov is a beast who bullied Kent into taking three more shots of tequila and he’s a little drunk.

He probably should be paying more attention to the speeches and stuff, but he’s more focused on gulping down water so he doesn’t make a fool of himself at an event that’s riddled with reporters and kicking Swoops under the table when he makes that super dumb face he makes when he’s drunk and confused.

You Can Play is a great organization and all and Kent _obviously_ supports it, but there’s only so much self-congratulating he can stand when dudes are still making “no homo” jokes in the locker rooms.

Once the speeches conclude and Kent applauds for the appropriate amount of time, he’s just about ready to book it on out of there back to his hotel or maybe even to another bar or, _shit_ , they’re in Colorado, they could probably get weed or something somewhere, but a pap calls his name and he gets suckered into a photo op and then another photo op and then “Just one more photo, Parse!” 

By the time he can finally leave, he’s just about sober and more than done with being social. He tries to keep his head down and just get out without talking to anyone else, but he’s only graceful on ice, so naturally he walks head first into someone.

“Sorry, man, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Kent says and looks up.

It’s Zimms.

Of _fucking_ course it’s Zimms, because he’d pissed off the gods the day he was born and they’ve gone out of their way to remind him they hate him at every turn.

“Are you okay?” Zimms asks, looking genuinely concerned and Kent is not interested in any of that. Well, no, he’s interested obviously, but he needs to not be because Zimms’ fucking boyfriend is around here somewhere and he’s made a fool of himself in front of Zimms and friends enough for one lifetime, thanks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Kent says, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, um,” Zimms says awkwardly, casting his eyes nervously around the room, and Kent has a brief but vivid memory of him at sixteen doing the exact same thing. “I actually wanted to talk to you. Can I talk to you?”

Kent has half a mind to say no and just go back to his hotel, but Zimms looks so anxious and sincere and Kent is a glutton for punishment.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Not here,” Zimms says and stalks off, leaving Kent with nothing to do but follow him. He has no idea how Zimms knows where he’s going, but they go through a series of doors until they’re in what seems a makeshift greenroom for the speakers of the night. 

“Kent, I…” Zimms says, starting to pace and then stopping, before starting and stopping all over again. Kent leans up against the wall by the door and waits. From experience, he knows Zimms’ll spit it out eventually, he usually just needs some time to get his thoughts together.

“Kent,” he starts again. “I’m really glad we’re talking again. I’m glad we’re friends.”

“I am too,” Kent says. It feels easier to be sincere now that it’s just the two of them.

There’s a flicker of a smile on Zimms’ face before he goes right back to looking incredibly nervous. Kent remembers the way he used to shake when he had anxiety and the memory feels like a vise around his heart.

“Kent,” he says again. “I, uh. I… um.”

“Hey,” Kent says gently, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to Jack, putting a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s okay. Whatever it is that you have to tell me is okay. It’s just me.”

Jack looks at him intensely for just a moment before leaning down and pressing his lips to Kent’s.

It’s not a first kiss, they’d messed around way too much as kids for it to be that, but it feels like one. There’s a softness to it, a tentativeness that had never been there before. Kent can feel Jack’s fingers gently graze against his cheek before they curl around Kent's jaw. There’s a hesitant hand brushing Kent’s hip, slowly sliding around to his back, pulling him in, and Kent steps in, steps closer to the man he’s loved for over a decade.

It feels like a moment frozen in time, surreal and ethereal, broken only by Jack pulling away slightly just to kiss him again. And again and again.

Kent’s hands wander up to rest on Jack’s chest, his fingers curling around the lapels of Jack’s gorgeous suit.

The suit Eric probably picked out.

Eric. Jack’s boyfriend.

Kent shoves Jack away from him, breathing hard. Jack hits a chair and stumbles, looking surprised as all hell.

“What are you doing?” Kent spits.

“Kenny, I -”

“Don’t call me that!” It doesn’t even sound like Kent speaking, his own voice darker and rougher than he’s ever heard it. Kent is furious and hurt and humiliated. He wants to punch Jack and also kiss him again and also cry all at the same time. “You have a boyfriend, Jack, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Kent, I’ve been talking to him, please, I -”

“Over the years, I’ve thought you were a lot of things, but I never thought you’d go this low. Fuck off, Jack.”

Kent’s honestly not even sure how he finds his way back to the main area of the hall, out to Uber that’s waiting for him, up to Swoops’ hotel room door with a bottle of whisky in his hand.

What he does know is that when Swoops opens the door, looking surprised and concerned, Kent says, “I need to get fucked up and I need to not be alone,” and Swoops lets him in.

∴

The next morning, Kent wakes up so hungover he barely knows his own name. He groans as he rolls over in a bed that’s definitely not his, remembers what led him to this hangover, and immediately groans again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Swoops says from somewhere a few feet to his left. Kent groans again for good measure and shortly after feels the soft impact of a pillow lobbed at him.

He deserved that.

Kent lays there for maybe a half hour, mostly feeling sorry for himself, but he can’t get back to sleep, so he figures he might as well try to hunt down some coffee and a greasy breakfast to try to make himself feel well enough to be a person. Or well enough to be able to go back to sleep at least.

He steals a pair of jeans from Swoops because they’re basically the same size anyway and he’ll be back before Swoops even knows he’s gone. He also snags a baseball hat and sunglasses for good measure. Colorado is Avs central, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get recognized.

Shutting the door quietly behind him to avoid waking up Swoops (read: to avoid him realizing Kent stole half the clothes he has here), Kent’s just about to whip out his phone to look for some breakfast recommendations when he sees probably the last person he’d ever want to see in this moment.

“Kent Parson,” Eric says with a smile. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

He was stupid enough to think the hangover was enough for whatever he did that angered the gods. Nope. They hate him more than he hates himself.

Kent momentarily entertains the idea of pretending he is not Kent Parson and also the idea of just turning around and going back into Swoops’ room, but then he realizes A) that’s stupid and B) he doesn’t have a room key.

“Hey,” Kent says and, wow, his voice sounds like shit. Drinking’ll do that to a person. “I hope you meant that less stalkery than it sounded, because you’re kinda right outside my door looking for me specifically.”

Eric laughs, looking genuinely unbothered by Kent’s bluntness.

“My room’s right over there,” he says, sticking his thumb over his shoulder at the corner room. “This was just a happy accident, I guess. Come get breakfast with me, you look like you could use a good meal.”

Kent stands there for a moment and debates whether or not to be a giant bastard.

“I’m honestly too hungover to say no, just bring me somewhere I can get coffee and the greasiest meal you can possibly imagine.”

The elevator dings and its doors slide open. They get in.

“It’s a shame I don’t have access to a kitchen here. I make a mean hangover breakfast.”

“That’s your thing, isn’t it?” Kent asks as he tries to not let the elevator’s movement make him puke. “You bake, right?”

“Yeah,” Eric says, looking at him curiously.

“I stumbled upon your vlog when I was looking for a dessert to impress my ex.” That part is actually true. He leaves out the part where he’d watched the entirety of Eric’s channel in a drunken bout of self-loathing.

“How’d that go?” Eric said, one perfect eyebrow arched up.

“Ditched the ex, kept the souffle recipe.”

Eric’s laugh is a beautiful thing, because of course he’s perfect and Kent can’t even hate him properly for Jack loving him and not Kent.

They go to a greasy spoon around the corner from the hotel and Kent doesn’t rest his head against the table, but he really wants to. He’s at breakfast with his ex’s current boyfriend who may or may not know that said ex cheated on him last night. He’s trying to keep some sense of decorum about him.

After they put in their orders and the waitress brings them coffee with an unimpressed look at Kent, Eric seems to settle in to the booth, almost like he’s bracing himself for something.

“So I know Jack kissed you last night,” Eric says and Kent chokes on his coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Kent says, sounding strangled because of the choking but also mostly because of the subject matter. “I shouldn’t have kissed him, it was my fault, don’t blame him.” 

He’s not even sure really why he’s lying, but he knows that Eric makes Jack happy and all Kent has really ever wanted is for Jack to be happy. If that means Kent has to play the villain again, well, it’s nothing he’s not used to.

Eric gives him a strange look that makes Kent reflexively ask, “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “You’re just not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

Their conversation takes a brief hiatus and the still unimpressed waitress brings over Eric’s healthy omelet and Kent’s Breakfast Deluxe, complete with eggs, hash browns, a Belgian waffle, sausage, _and_ bacon.

“You’re my hero,” he says to the waitress’ retreating back. At this point he would give her his first born, that’s how happy he is to have this breakfast.

Eric laughs and Kent feels a weird sense of pride in being the cause of it.

“I don’t know what I was expecting anymore.”

Eric is kind and good and patient and lets Kent get at least halfway into his meal before speaking again.

“I know Jack kissed you, because I was the one who told him to.”

“You,” Kent says dumbly, blinking up at him. “Wait, what?”

Eric smiles and it’s not one of those sardonic smiles you give someone when they’re being stupid and you have to be nice to them. He smiles like he understands.

“Look, I know you and Jack have a… rich history. When he told me he wanted to reconnect with you, I wasn’t thrilled, I can’t lie. The only interaction I’d ever had with you, you’d said some distinctly unkind things.”

Kent remembers that night, remembers the shame and embarrassment he’d felt when he saw Eric crouched outside Jack’s door. He wished that had been enough to prevent him from turning back over his shoulder and spitting some of the worst things he’d ever said in Jack’s face.

“I’m not like that anymore.” It feels weirdly important that Eric knows that.

“I know,” Eric says with a nod. “It took me a while to realize it, but I do know now. I got to know you through Jack, through the texts you sent him or the stories he’d tell about the two of you in Juniors.”

“Oh god,” Kent says, putting down his fork and hiding his face in his hands. “What kinds of stories?”

“All kinds,” Eric says and, through his fingers, he can see Eric grinning. “Good ones, bad ones, embarrassing ones.” 

There’s a knowing glint in Eric’s eyes and Kent knows exactly which story he’s referencing.

“Can we get the check?” Kent says weakly to the rest of the diner, but their waitress is nowhere to be found. Eric laughs again. 

“It took a while, but I started to see how good of a friend you were to him, how much you mean to him. You did your best to help him in a really tough situation and he’s grateful for that. I am too.”

Kent shakes his head.

“I didn’t do enough,” he says quietly. “If I’d done better he wouldn’t have overdosed at all. He would have made it to the draft. He would have -“

“Honey,” Eric cuts him off, placing his hand comfortingly over Kent’s. Kent stares at it. “If you weren’t there, Jack wouldn’t have made it as long as he did. You helped. More than you know.”

Kent doesn’t know what to say to that other than to insist that Eric doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but that hardly seems appropriate (again, talking to ex’s boyfriend about kissing said ex), so he does the smart thing for once and shuts the fuck up.

Eric squeezes his hand before pulling it away. Kent’s hand feels weirdly cold without it.

“Over time, it became clear that while he loves me, he probably still has feelings for you too and that’s okay.”

“How could that possibly be okay to you?” Kent can’t understand.

Eric shrugs.

“Just because he feels things for you doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. Love isn’t pie; there’s not a finite amount that you can run out of. If anything, love only grows the more you have of it.”

“Wow.”

“I stole that from a polyamorous blogger I follow,” Eric says with a wry grin. “Don’t go thinking I’m philosophical or anything now.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Kent retorts with a wink. He’s decided Eric has a nice smile and wouldn’t mind seeing more of it.

“Look, this kind of thing isn’t for everyone and I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.” Eric’s face has gone serious again. “But I also don’t want you to miss out on being with the man you love because of some weird sense that it would be cruel to me.”

“Are you always this nice or am I your charity case for the year?”

Eric laughs and picks up his coffee mug.

“Honestly, I’m not this nice,” Eric says after taking a sip. “It’s just important to me that Jack is happy and I think you can make him happy.

“ _Y_ _ou_ make Jack happy,” Kent insists.

“I do.” Eric puts down his mug and looks up at Kent. There’s not an ounce of irony in his expression and Kent feels a surge of…. jealousy maybe? That he can be so confident of his place in another person’s life. Ugh, Kent is way too hungover for this. “And you can make him even happier.”

Eric is serious about this and for the first time in a long time, Kent feels a glimmer of hope.

“Think about it, okay?” Eric says, waving the waitress over to get the check.

∴

Kent thinks about it. He thinks about it while he pays for breakfast for the two of them, while they walk back to the hotel, in the hotel lobby, in the elevator up to their floor.

He can have Jack. Maybe not the way he’d always wished he could, but maybe this is better. They’re on teams that could not be further across the country. Long distance in its traditional form would never work for the two of them. And isn’t it better to have something than nothing? Or is it stupid to get all tangled up in Jack again when it’ll never really work out?

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely notices Eric leading them toward his own room until they’re right in front of the door and Kent comes to his senses.

“Eric -” he starts.

“Kent,” Eric says firmly, but he’s looking up at Kent with no short degree of empathy. “You don’t have to know what you want just yet, but you do have to talk to him. You were totally justified in how you reacted based on what you knew, but he was a wreck afterward. Y’all need to talk it out.”

Ah, yes, Kent’s favorite thing in the world: talking about his feelings.

“What if I don’t want to?” Kent ask rather pathetically, avoiding Eric’s intense gaze. He’s not sure what he would even say at this point.

“Then do it because he needs you to,” Eric answers and sticks his keycard in the slot. The light flashes green and he opens the door. “Go.”

Eric gently pushes Kent through the doorway before Kent can respond and the door clicks loudly shut behind him.

Jack and Eric’s room is dark, save for the light that’s streaming through the white curtained windows, and it somehow comforts Kent that he can hide in the shadows a moment longer.

“Hey, Bits.” Jack’s sitting on the bed shirtless with his back to him, faced toward the windows. He sounds tired, defeated almost. The gentle light only highlights the sculpted muscles in his back and Kent’s chest tightens at how badly he wants him. At the idea that he can _have_ him.

Kent clears his throat.

“Slightly different blond here, sorry,” he says. It’s not as strong or as witty as he would have liked but it’s something.

Jack whips around to look at him. He’s on his feet and halfway across the room before he stops short.

“Kent,” Jack breathes.

Jack has always been so intense, so focused, and to have that attention back on Kent again after so long is staggering. His face is half shadowed but, from what Kent can see, he’s looking at Kent with something like, well, _yearning_ sounds stupid, but Kent doesn’t know how else to describe it.

“Hey, Zimms.”

He forces himself to be brave and moves toward him, leaving maybe a foot between them. Neither of them say anything for a moment. Kent can feel his heart hammering in his throat.

“Hey, next time you go to kiss me, let me know that your boyfriend’s okay with it first, alright?”

Jack’s breath catches.

“You…?”

“I ran into Eric on my way to breakfast, so we went together,” Kent says. He sticks his hands in his pockets to hide how they’re shaking. “He’s really something.”

Jack huffs out a soft laugh.

“Yeah, he is.”

There’s another silence and Kent wants to squirm away from how uncomfortable he feels. He wants to run his mouth and ruin this, but at the same time he wants have Jack look at him like this forever, like he’s something precious and desired.

“Hey, Kent?” Jack asks softly.

“Yeah?”

“My boyfriend’s okay with me kissing you.” There’s a ghost of a smile on Jack’s face and Kent _wants_.

This time when Jack leans down to kiss him, Kent is right there, surging up to meet him, roping his arms around Jack’s shoulders, tangling his hands in Jack’s hair. Kent feels Jack’s arms circle his waist, one hand curling toward Kent’s hip, the other moving up his back, both pulling him closer until they’re pressed together entirely.

Kent loses himself in it, in the unfamiliar yet familiar way Jack’s mouth moves against his, in the way Jack’s strong arms feel around him, and when Jack’s tongue swipes against Kent’s bottom lip, it’s like being struck by lighting in the best way. Kent groans and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Jack walks them backwards a little, never moving his mouth from Kent’s, until the back of Kent’s knees hit the bed. Kent pulls back slightly to look at Jack. Even in the low light, Jack looks ruined, his face pink and his pupils blown out. Kent’s sure he doesn’t look any better. He leans up to kiss Jack one more time before, stepping out and shoving Jack onto the bed.

Jack makes a soft surprised sound before laughing.

“Such a jerk, even after all this time,” Jack says a little breathlessly as Kent crawls on top of him.

“You love it,” Kent says and kisses him again, deep and hot. He tries not to think too much about Jack humming what almost sounds like agreement against his lips and focuses on how hard Jack is against his own erection instead. Kent grinds his hips against Jack’s, which makes Jack moan and grab Kent’s hips so hard that it hurts.

Kent kisses a trail down Jack’s throat, half expecting him to shrug Kent away like he used to and he’s pleasantly surprised when Jack arches his neck, giving Kent access. He bites a bruise into Jack’s neck, soothing it with his tongue when Jack’s breath hiccups. There’s a vicious part of him that wants to mark him up, that wants proof that this really happened and wasn’t just a dream.

When their lips meet again, Jack leans up into the kiss, hungry for it, and if Kent wasn’t a goner before….

Suddenly, Jack thrusts up and flips them over, so Jack is on top of Kent. It’s almost effortless on Jack’s part, which is so fucking hot that Kent’s dick aches. The weight of Jack’s stupidly gorgeous body feels incredible against him as he leans down and to capture another desperate kiss. Kent digs his heels into Jack’s ass to pull him even closer and they groan as their dicks press together through their clothes.

Jack pulls away from Kent and Kent immediately panics.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to -” Kent says as Jack says, “Do you mind if I -?”

They laugh breathlessly, both breathing hard.

“I was gonna ask,” Jack continues, his voice rough and low and Kent swears he could come just from the sound of it. “Can I, um.” He shakes his head gently. “Can I blow you?”

That was not what Kent was expecting at all.

“Yes,” Kent says stupidly. “Yes, you can absolutely blow me, please blow me.”

Jack grins and it’s a beautiful thing.

“Shut up, Parse,” he teases, which is at complete odds with the desperate way he claws open Kent’s jeans. Kent sends out a mental apology to Swoops for getting laid in Swoops’ pants until the thought is ripped entirely out of Kent’s head by Jack’s hand on his dick.

Kent lets out a pathetic sort of whimper as Jack jerks Kent’s cock a few times before leaning down and taking it into his mouth.

See, when Kent was sad and lonely (and usually drunk), he’d use memories of Jack blowing him to jerk off to and he kind of thought he was exaggerating how good it was, because he was 17 when they happened and he didn’t really know what a good blow job was.

He was not exaggerating.

Jack tentatively slides his mouth over Kent’s cock a few times before he dips all the way down and honest to god _moans_ when it hits the back of his throat. Kent reaches down to run his hands through Jack’s hair, breathing hard, and Kent can see how his eyes flutter when Kent’s hand tightens as Jack takes him deep again.

“Fuck, Jack, oh my god,” Kent groans and, if anything, it seems to spur Jack on. His mouth is so hot and wet around him and the sounds he makes are obscene. Kent half heartedly tries to think of something, _anything_ , to keep from coming so quickly, but then Jack looks up at him, his eyes just a thin strip of blue around blown pupils, and Kent is going, going, gone, coming hard into Jack’s mouth.

Jack swallows it all before pulling off of him with a soft wet sound.

“Sorry, fuck, I should have warned you, I didn’t mean to -”

“I don’t care, I liked it,” Jack says all in a rush, crawling up the bed to kiss Kent and Kent can taste himself in his mouth. His spent cock gives a slightly painful twitch at that, but then Jack is yanking off his shorts and guiding Kent’s hand to his own cock. “Kent, please, I need, Kenny, _Kenny._ ”

Jack is so hot and hard and Kent has always loved when he gets desperate like this before he comes.

“I got you, babe,” Kent says and leans up on his elbow to kiss him, jerking him hard as Jack moans into his mouth. “You’re so fucking hot, Zimms, come for me.”

And he _fucking does_. With a small cry, Jack comes all over Kent’s hand, hard and fast, panting as Kent works him through it, until Jack finally knocks Kent’s hand away with a small smile.

“Fuck,” Jack says breathlessly, flopping back down on to the mattress. 

“Same,” Kent says, refusing to feel bad about using the sheets to wipe the come off his hand and Jack’s stomach. The hotel staff has seen worse.

Jack looks over at him with a soft expression and smiles, curling his hand around Kent’s neck and pulling him down into a soft, sweet kiss.

“Thank you for coming back,” Jack says when they finally break apart. “I didn’t explain myself at all last night and I was so sure I’d fucked this whole thing up.”

“It was all Eric, honestly,” Kent says, settling down on the bed next to him. “He caught me as I was looking for a hangover breakfast and explained it all and then shoved me in here before I really knew what was happening.”

“I was gonna say, you look kind of worse for wear,” Jack teases and laughs when Kent swats his chest. “Kenny, there are so many things I want to say to you, but I don’t know where to start.”

“Start anywhere,” Kent says, trailing his hand down Jack’s arm and tangling their fingers together.

Jack looks at him for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you after the draft.” Kent shakes his head and goes to roll away, but Jack keeps a firm grip on his hand and pulls him back. “Stop, please listen, I mean it. I was really unfair to you.”

“Zimms, come on, that’s ancient history,” Kent says.

“I’m sorry,” Jack insists. “It wasn’t you I was mad at. Every success you had just highlighted how much of a failure I was and I took my own self loathing out on you. It wasn’t right and I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t a failure,” Kent says to Jack’s chest. He can’t look Jack in the eye for this or he’ll do something stupid like cry. “You were sick.”

“I was,” Jack says and uses his free hand to tilt Kent’s chin up. Kent reluctantly meets his eye. “Thank you for taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when you didn’t know how.”

“I was fucking terrible at it, Zimms,” Kent spits. “You shouldn’t be thanking me at all.”

“We were _seventeen,_ Kent! How the fuck were you supposed to be able to know how to deal with someone with debilitating anxiety? You did the best you could. Your friendship was something real I could hold on to when I felt overwhelmed.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Kent hates this. He can fuck any day of the week, but this conversation, this conversation with _Jack_ specifically, leaves him feeling open and vulnerable in a way he’s never been comfortable with. It was somehow easier when Jack was angry and unattainable.

“Nothing would have ever been enough,” Jack says emphatically. “There was nothing you could have done that would have saved me, I was too far gone. You did the best you could. What happened to me wasn’t your fault.”

Kent hates the way his throat tightens and his eyes burn at Jack’s words. He hates the way Jack’s face contorts into empathy when Kent doesn’t deserve it.

“I didn’t mean what I said at Samwell,” Kent says, voice muddy.

“I know,” Jack says simply.

“I said some horrible shit and I didn’t mean it and I’m so sorry,” Kent says a little desperately.

“I forgave you a long time ago. It’s okay, Kenny.”

Something in Kent breaks and tear slips loose and then another and another and later he’ll blame the hangover for making him emotional and ridiculous, but in the moment, he’s grateful for the way Jack wraps him up in his arms and cards his fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay,” Jack whispers into his hair. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I love you,” Kent says and, wow, he always has been an idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut and he supposes he always will be. He’s just about to pull back, to apologize and say he didn’t mean it when -

“I love you too, Kent,” Jack says, as easy as anything. Kent pulls away sharply.

“No, you don’t, come on.”

Jack just rolls his eyes good-naturedly and smiles at Kent.

“Always so stubborn,” Jack says fondly. He props himself up on his elbow, so he can lean down over Kent. He brushes Kent's hair off his forehead and curls his hand around Kent's jaw. “I know I’ve done things in the past that would make you hesitant to believe me when I say it, but I’d like the chance to make it up to you. I love you. I want to make this work.”

“Really?” Kent says, hating how small he sounds.

“Really,” Jack answers with a smile and leans down to give him another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first full fic I've written in years and I'm real proud of myself for actually finishing it.
> 
> Come love these sweet boys with me on tumblr at magnus-burntsides


End file.
